


Still Waters

by zopyrus



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family, First Age, Gen, Mithrim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2014-10-15
Packaged: 2018-02-19 14:23:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2391575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zopyrus/pseuds/zopyrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aredhel and Idril have a talk about missing family.  Also, a rock-throwing lesson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still Waters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Solanaceae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solanaceae/gifts).



> Thanks to Suzelle, Makalaure, and Tehta for the beta!

Idril woke at dawn.  She dressed quietly, not bothering to uncover the lamp: the darkness in her bedchamber was not unfriendly, as it had been in her dreams.  With deft fingers, she combed back and divided her long hair, twisting it quickly into a single braid that hung down her back.  The style was probably too simple for her grandfather’s court, but that did not concern her.  Fingolfin’s councilors had better things to worry about; and for an ordinary day, it would be enough.

She paused on her way out of the room. Her nurse Meleth, ever-hopeful, had laid a pair of fine sandals by the door. They were made of new, soft leather, quite unlike the sealskin boots Idril had worn and hated for so many years. The sandals had even been embossed with a winged sun, the new symbol of the House of Finwe. Idril considered them for a moment, almost tempted; but in the end she left them behind.

Outside, the sky was already glowing brighter.  Streaks of pink and orange cloud dissolved into white and blue; and the unruffled waters of Lake Mithrim glittered with morning light. Just out of sight, behind the green blur of the distant pine grove, lay the Fëanorian settlement.

Idril eyed the far shore with distaste. In the three years since Fingolfin’s host arrived at Mithrim, she had not once ventured to the other side of the lake. She had never quite dared ask permission to go.  In any case, she did not remember her father’s cousins well enough to miss them.  She knew it was their fault her mother was dead.

It was better for them to be on the other side of the lake—especially now, when it was their fault about Fingon, too. It was hardly fair that Idril’s uncle should be lost after having survived so much: the Ice, which had claimed her mother, and the Battle of the Lammoth, where her playmate Argon had fallen. But a week ago, Fingon had risen early—perhaps at this very hour—and departed without a word.

If she had thought it would solve anything, Idril might have wished for the courage to chase after him; but she was not stupid enough to believe that would solve anything.  There had already been a search party, and their efforts had failed. Even when Idril’s father had begged the doves and pigeons of Mithrim to fly abroad and search for Fingon, they brought back no news. People talked about it in hushed voices. Wherever he was now, they said, it was a place animals dared not go.

Some of the whispers had followed Idril into her dreams, and for the last few nights she had slept uneasily.  Her latest dream had been the worst: it had ended in a black pit underground, when the darkness swallowed her up.  

Walking soothed her.  She breathed deeply, taking in the scents of the flowering trees, and the mud near the lake—until she heard the soft thud of a shod foot, and the rustle of heavy cloth. Still preoccupied with her thoughts, she turned almost fearfully.

It was only her aunt.

Aredhel was dressed in her usual finery. Idril knew that she had been sick with worry for days, but one would never have guessed it from her appearance. Her white gown was girdled with silver, and there were pale ribbons in her dark hair. The ground behind them was wet with dew—Idril could feel it between her toes—but somehow Aredhel’s trailing hemline was still spotless.

Aredhel nodded companionably at her niece, and strolled past her, right up to the water’s edge. Heedless of her clothes, she crouched down by the water and scraped her fingers carefully into the grey lake mud. When she opened her wet palms to show Idril, they were full of flat stones.

“How many skips do you think I can get, little star?”

She didn’t wait for Idril’s answer. With a flick of her wrist, she spun one of the stones out over the water. It bounced—eleven, twelve, thirteen—and disappeared.

She glanced back at Idril, challenge in her eyes.

“Can you do better?”

Idril took the proffered stone. It was polished and smooth from years in the water. She tried to balance it the way her aunt had done. But the stone jumped out of her fingers a second too soon, and fell in the water with an unsatisfying plop.

"Oh," she said, disappointed.

"Try again.”

Aredhel handed her another stone. This time, Idril managed two skips before it sank.

"Your grandmother Anairë taught me how to do this," said Aredhel, as they watched her own second throw skip endlessly over the water. "Of course, since it's my mother we're talking about, she couldn't just show me how to do it. She turned it into a science lesson."

She passed another stone to Idril, laying it carefully in her fingers and nudging Idril's shoulder to change her posture.

"Try it like this."

Six skips. Idril curved her empty fingers, trying to remember exactly how she had done it.

"What kind of science lesson?"

The corner of Aredhel's mouth twitched into a smile.

"Well, she asked me to come up with ideas first, about what would make the stone skip farthest. Things like the surface tension of the water, size of the stone, strength of the throw...that kind of thing. After that she made me experiment to see if any of my ideas were correct."

Aredhel weighed another stone in her hand as she spoke.

"I thought it would be all about strength. But we discovered that the most important element is the angle of your stone as it strikes the water. You can do it with quite a light touch. See?”

The stone skipped out of her hand, across the water, and out of sight.

“Of course it also takes practice. Knowing what your hand is supposed to do is a bit different from actually being able to do it.”

“Is that also something your mother taught you?” asked Idril.

“Not in so many words, but I suppose so. She liked to apply her knowledge to practical problems. It would have been quite handy to have her—”

She broke off, and looked away.

Idril stared at the ripples in the water, trying to choose her next words carefully. She didn't often hear stories about Anairë. There were a lot of people her family never talked about.

With a little effort, she could picture Anairë’s face, and even almost hear her sharp laugh—but no sooner had she imagined it than she realized it was Aredhel’s laugh she was thinking of. Had they really been the same?

“I wish I remembered her better.”

There was another long silence.

“My mother was stubborn,” said Aredhel. “Usually that’s a good way to be. It’s important not to betray what you believe in. It’s important not to go back on your word. But she couldn’t understand why we wanted to leave, she wouldn’t listen, and she couldn’t convince us to stay. It’s…hard for me, to remember. It hurts less to just not bring her up.”

“Are you angry with her?” asked Idril.

“Yes,” said Aredhel. “Family should be more important than anything. But perhaps she says the same thing, and thinks it means we should have stayed with her.”

Idril thought about some of the other family her aunt never mentioned, and held herself very still.

“If Uncle Fingon never comes back, are you going to stop talking about him?”

Aredhel flinched.

“He’s going to come back.”

“I hope so,” said Idril. The glare of the sun on the water was starting to hurt her eyes. “I don’t want to forget him.”

Aredhel laid a hand on her shoulder. It was damp, but comforting.

“He shouldn’t have left us, little star. But we don’t forget people, you and I. And we don’t give up on them, either. All right?”

“All right,” said Idril.

Aredhel squeezed Idril’s shoulder.  

“Look at the sky,” she said.  “The day is passing already.”

Idril lifted her head.  The sun had crept upwards as they talked, and now blazed white-hot above the trees on the other side of the lake.  It must be desperately far away, but she could feel the heat of it on her skin.

She wondered what it was made of.

“If my mother were here, she would make us do something really useful,” continued Aredhel.  “To help us stop worrying.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” said Idril.  She smiled.  “Between the two of us, we’ll come up with something.”

Aredhel stood up, and carefully shook the wrinkles out of her skirt.  Then she held out a hand to Idril, and helped her up.

They walked homewards, hand in hand.


End file.
